The Dark Prince
by oddcreature
Summary: To protect his people and his country in the face of an almost insurmountable enemy, a prince is willing to venture where no man has ever gone before. But tempted by power, his actions lead him beyond the point of redemption.
1. CHAPTER I – THE STRANGER

**CHAPTER I – THE STRANGER**

**ARGES VALLEY – WALLACHIA (WINTER 1456)**

She fell hard on the stony ground, scratching her arms and face on the thorny undergrowth that lined the narrow path. The pain from the wound in her side was almost unbearable. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, fighting the darkness, which threatened to enclose her. She could hear the angry shouts and heavy footsteps behind her. They were coming closer.

"You cannot escape you filthy little whore." One of her pursuers shouted, breathing heavily.

She pulled herself up and ran, pain and exhaustion paling beside her fear as she scrambled up the muddy trail, which led into the mountains. Suddenly a hand shot out of the darkness and hurled her around. Her pursuers had caught up with her.

A tall blond man grabbed her hard around her upper arm, throwing her to the frozen ground. She crawled backwards, away from her attackers.

The blond man's companion, taller than the other two, stepped forward. Like the two other men, he was dressed in simple attire, wearing a long brown cloak over his leather west and pantaloons. He would have been handsome, with his dark brown hair and dark eyes, save for the scar that marred his right cheek. Reaching down, he grabbed her long, dark brown hair and pressed her head backwards into the hard, fir needle covered ground. Her brown eyes widened with fear, as he put his free hand around her throat.

"Please. Let me go, I beg you… Please, I will pay my debts." she pleaded, her voice shaking with fear.

The man laughed mirthlessly. "We both know that you will never be able to pay." He paused, watching her. "How are we going to explain Aaron that his daughter can not get married, because what little she had for a dowry was given to you in good faith to pay for your father's treatments." he hissed, closing his hand harder around her slender neck. His strong hands leaving marks on her white skin.

He raised his voice, so his companions could hear him. "Aye, and how are you explaining to me why I will have to wait for another year to wed the one promised to me, because she has no dowry!"

"Please, I have given everything I have, everything I earned to repay this debt." She said, her hands clutched around the blond man's hand that threatened to strangle her.

"Well, it was not enough." The blond man said, stepping closer and lowering himself to one knee beside her. "We could go and find your brother in that damn hellhole in the south were he is hiding or we can just take you, here, for our pleasure and then send you to one of the taverns in the capital. With your pretty face, you would be able to repay what you owe to my father in no time." He said and grabbing her cheeks with his rough hand, he bent down, kissing her violently.

The brown haired men suddenly grabbed her long brown skirt and with one forceful movement of his strong arms, ripped the fabric apart.

"No, please. Please don't…" she screamed, struggling against the two strong men in vain.

The third man, barely more than a boy, had so far only watched the scene silently. But now, he was opening his trousers.

"Let me give her a taste of what will be expected of her in the future." He said, stepping closer to her.

"Well, since I have no wife waiting in my bed, because of her, I think I should be the one to do the honours first." The brown haired men said, parting her thighs with his knee.

Before he could continue, a blade descended, severing his head from his body. The air was forced from Katherine's lungs as her assaulter's body collapsed on her, its warm, pulsing blood spilling over her.

The two other men staggered away from the tall hooded man, holding up a glistening sword, covered in their companion's blood. Slowly, he advanced on the two remaining men. Burying his sword in the blond man's lower belly, he grabbed the boy with his left. Holding him there, while he slowly removed the sword from the dying man's body to slit his throat. The man stepped back, watching as the two men died almost silently at his feet.

Bending down, he cleaned the blood stained blade of his sword on the clothes of the boy, then he turned, his eyes falling on the girl, frantically trying to push the dead body away from her.

He stepped closer and, placing a foot under his victim's torso, rolled him onto his back, thereby freeing the girl from the crushing weight. Suddenly free from the terrible weight that had held her down, she scrambled backward, away from him. But before she could make an attempt to escape, the man had grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet and crushing her against the trunk of an old tree.

His voice was cold as he spoke. "What is your name?"

She hesitated, looking up at him, unable to see his face under the hood that he had pulled deeply into his face. "Katherine." She replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Katherine, see that you pay your debts, or you will share their fate." The stranger said in a low voice, closing his gloved hand a little harder around her slender wrists.

Then suddenly he let her go. Katherine stumbled away from the frightening stranger and, as he made no attempt to follow her, she ran.

She stumbled down the steep path, which led towards the village. Her body felt numb from the cold and the pain and her clothes were dirty and hung from her small frame. She could still feel the strangers grip on her and the memory of his voice made her feel like she had swallowed ice. As she reached the outskirts of the village, she swiftly made her way to the small cottage which she inhabited since she had been forced to give up the elegant house in which she had lived with her father and younger brother. The bankruptcy had killed him and left her with nothing more than the garments she wore and the small cottage and a plot of land at the outskirts of the village. Her younger brother, desperate to earn some money, had left a long time ago to work on the estates of Galesh, a boyar, a Wallachian nobleman, who ruled over the estates in the south of the country.

She bolted the door and leaned her back against the uneven surface of the brick wall. Biting back her tears, she slowly sank to the ground. She didn't know how many hours had passed since her arrival, but she heard the villagers had set out in the early hours of the morning to search for the three missing men. Suddenly a woman screamed and then she knew that they had found the bodies of the three young men. Before she had time to act, the wooden door to her cabin was wrenched open with frightening force. Katherine could see the familiar face of the blacksmith Aaron, the father of the blond man who had met his cruel end at the hands of the hooded stranger.

The blacksmith's soft futures were contorted by rage and his voice trembled as he spoke. "What have you done to them witch? What have you done to my son?" He stepped closer, his right gripping his blacksmith's hammer.

"Please, I haven't done anything, I haven't harmed them, please let me explain…!"

But Aaron cut her short, "be quiet or I will kill you with my bare hands."

Katherine could see in their eyes that none of those present were willing to listen to her desperate explanations - and before she could make another futile attempt to explain herself her world went blank. Aaron stared at the unconscious woman at his feet, ignoring the blood that trickled from Katherine's temple.

The following days were a mixture of unendurable pain and blissful unconsciousness. Aaron, aided by grieving brothers and fathers, was determined to press a confession out of her before she would be brought to the city of Tirgoviste to face a trial. Katherine knew they would not dare to kill her or they would share her fate, as in Wallachia, by law of the prince, any crime was punishable only by death. However, the prince's harsh laws also meant that her sole chance for survival was to escape her captors before they reached Tirgoviste and therewith her almost certain death.

Katherine knew her chances of surviving the journey to the next village were slim at this time of the year. The ground was already frozen and soon snow would begin to fall. Perhaps she could survive the bitter cold of the Wallachian winter for a few days, but there was barely a chance of escaping the starving packs of wolves that roamed the woods around the village.

The wooden door of her prison cell was opened forcefully and Aaron, accompanied by two other men, entered her filthy prison cell. "Get up." Aaron barked at her, while one of his companions pulled her up from the rough stone floor and tied a rope around her wrists, before leading her outside into the cold, where an old, horse-drawn cart waited for her. They travelled the whole day trough the wintery countryside and towards the evening snow began to fall.

Her captors rarely spoke, each one lost in their own bitter thoughts. Katherine tried to force her thoughts away from the cold, the pain and above all the terrible fear. She closed her eyes and tried to remember her father's face - her poor late father, who once had been a wealthy and influential merchant, ensuring his children a comfortable upbringing. Whether it was greed or ignorance, she did not know, but her father, in an attempt to amass even more wealth, had risked all his wealth on a single expedition to bring silk and precious stones from the Ottoman lands back to Wallachia and even more importantly, to the Hungarian kingdom in the north of the small principality.

After learning that the caravan and with it his entire wealth, had fallen victim to a band of brigands close to Katahia, deep in the Ottoman lands, he had fallen terribly ill. Forced to give up their estate to their creditors, that had provided financing for the expedition, they moved into the small cottage at the outskirts of the village. The small plot of land surrounding it barely enough to provide sustenance for them. The villagers and especially Aaron, had been kind to them. Katherine had remained behind to care for her father, while her brother, Jonathan, left to find work in the south. As her father's condition deteriorated, it was Aaron that paid for the healer that had come from the capital to treat him. She had gladly taken the money promising to repay it as soon as she could. She had laboured tirelessly on the small plot of land that barely yielded enough for her to survive. In her desperation, she had taken up work whenever and as whatever she could and always her pay would go directly to the blacksmith.

Now she would pay her father's treatment with her life. Aaron's rough hands pulled her from the carriage, suddenly interrupting her bitter thoughts. As she looked up into the blacksmith's swollen brown eyes, he held her gaze for a brief moment and she almost shrank back from the hatred she saw there. Then he grabbed her arms firmly and led her wordlessly towards a tree, where he tied her to massive branch, to prevent her from escaping. Darkness was closing in and heavy snowflakes fell from the sky. Katherine's fingers were stiff from the cold and the rough rope cut painfully into the bruised flesh of her slender wrists. But despite the pain she continued her attempt to loosen the ropes that tied her. She felt a trickle of warm blood on her arm, where the ropes had cut deep into her flesh. Around the bloody marks the ropes had left, dark bruises were still clearly visible against her white skin - the bruises, a reminder of her faithful encounter with the hooded stranger. A distant fear rose in her at the thought of him. To distract herself she shifted her gaze from her aching wrists to the small, dying campfire a few feet away. Aaron and one of his companions lay already fast asleep, while the third man sat on a stone close to the fire, watching her. But in the darkness, he was unable to see what she felt; her ropes had loosened. Afraid to draw attention to herself, she stood still and listened to her racing hart. An overwhelming fear gripped her at the thought of what she had to do next.

For endless hours, her guard did not move, simply watching her. Then suddenly, he rose and strode away to a group of small trees to relief himself. Katherine knew that this was her only chance to escape. As he disappeared behind a tree, she took a deep breath and slid the ropes over her bloodied wrists, biting her lips to prevent herself from screaming. With courage born from despair, she ran into the darkness, not knowing where, but simply away from certain death. But her flight did not go unnoticed by her captors. She could hear her guard's angry shouts, as he noticed her escape and moments later his voice was joined by those of the others. She was sure they were following her and as she looked back, she noticed the footprints she had left in the snow - she could not hope to lose them in the darkness. She bit down the tears; she could not afford to waste her strength on them, she had to run. Struggling up a steep hill, she heard heavy footsteps and angry shouts coming closer and turned back to see her pursuers closing in. Gripping a salient root, she was able to pull herself up the steep scrap. She did not waste another look at her pursuers who struggled at the foot of the hill but ran.

A silent spectator, unnoticed by Katherine and the three men, stood in the shadows of the trees and watched the scene impassionedly. The horse beside him stirred and he placed a shooting hand on his stallion's brow, whispering to the horse, while his eyes followed the fleeing girl.

Katherine ran. Her lungs burning, she reached a part of the woods, where the thick forest almost prevented the snow from reaching the grounds. She knew this was her only chance. Like a frightened hare, she slid between the thorny thickets and cowered to the ground. Trembling, she pressed herself to the frozen ground and waited. A few heartbeats later, she heard the heavy footfalls of her pursuers approaching.

"Her trail ends here. The witch must be hiding somewhere. Find her!" Aaron shouted.

Frightened, she closed her eyes and prayed to the holy mother while the men spread out to look for her. Suddenly, there was noise everywhere. She heard Aaron's hoarse scream and opened her eyes. Before she could move, strong hands had grabbed her and pulled her to her feet. Dozens of armed soldiers stood in the small clearing, some holding torches, others watching the scene with their swords drawn. Their black armour glinted threateningly in the flickering light of the torches. The man holding her arms pushed her towards his commander. Katherine's eyes fell on the skilfully crafted, curled, silver dragon that held together the captain's long, black cape. Only the Viteshi, the Voivode's feared guard had the right to wear the prince's symbol, the dragon. Like everyone else, she had heard the stories about their bravery, their loyalty to their prince and their merciless cruelty, when carrying out their master's orders. She remembered seeing the half rotten corpses of impaled men – left as an example by the prince's guard to remind everyone of the fate that awaited them for breaking their master's laws. Murderers, thieves, beggars, or delinquent debtors, it did not matter, as all crimes committed within the boarders of Wallachia were punishable only by death. She closed her eyes, biting her lips hard while trying to fight back the panic rising in her at the thought of what fate awaited her for not paying her dues. In a desperate attempt to stop her tears, she bit down harder, cracking the soft skin of her lips and causing a small trickle of blood to drip from her lips onto her chin. Before she could wipe the blood away, she was pushed toward the tall, blond commander of the troop. The man's hazel eyes rested on her for a brief moment, taking in her bloodied wrists, cracked lips and ripped dress. Then he looked at the men holding Aaron and his companions. "Bring them to the castle." He turned briskly and mounted his waiting horse. The man standing behind her pushed her forward, never letting go of her upper arm.

**TARGOVISTE – CAPITAL CITY OF WALLACHIA**

Weakened from her flight and the long march through the deep snow she stared in awe at the black city-walls of the princely capital. She had never seen the capital city before, but had heard stories about its splendour. Under the reign of Vlad III, Wallachia and its capital city Tirgoviste had prospered and the prince's effort to promote foreign trade had brought wealthy merchants from Venice, Genoa and even Constantinople to the Wallachian capital.

But the peace and prosperity had come at a heavy price. The streets were filled with soldiers that were returning from the battlefield in the South and even though celebrating a victory over an Ottoman regiment only a fortnight ago, the mood seemed subdued, as everyone knew that the mighty Sultan was assembling his forces at Wallachia's Southern boarder, ready to invade the country.

However, the foreign merchants carried on as usual and her eyes briefly rested on the colourful, richly embodied cloak of a Venetian merchant. As the man turned and walked away, he revealed a beautiful golden cup standing on the rim of fountain.

An old haggard looking woman reached for the bejewelled cup and dipped it into the water, than she drank from it before returning it to its place on the rim of the fountain. Katherine suddenly noticed the tall wooden stake that was erected beside the well. She retched as she realised what it was – impaled on the stake was the rotting corpse of a man. The guard accompanying her pushed her forward and she looked away, unable to look at the gruesome scene. Of course she had heard the story of the gold cup – but she had foolishly dismissed it as legend until she saw it with her own eyes. The golden cup had been a gift from the merchant guild of Brasov to the prince of Wallachia. The prince had placed the priceless piece on the rim of the city well, for everyone to use, but the precious cup was stolen within the day. The prince, not known for showing leniency, had the thief and his entire family, who had failed to report the offender, impaled beside the well. The cup was restored to its former place, however, only a few days later, the cup was stolen again. But neither cup nor thief were missing long – within the day both the cup and the thief were brought before the prince by the thief's own father. Katherine closed her eyes, fighting the tears that threatened to overtake her. Soon the prince would pass judgement on her and she could only pray that he would be merciful.

The soldier walking beside her guided her through the inner palace gates towards the main building. The stairs leading up to the massive, iron studded front gates, were already covered in snow. Katherine walked up the slippery stairs, silently praying. She exhaled as she stepped trough the massive gates into the antechamber. Staring up at the high ceiling of the chamber and the terrifying carvings of warfare and royal punishment adorning the elegant pillars, she followed the guard across the room towards an ornately carved wooden door. The two guards, positioned on either side of the door that bore the princely seal, opened its wings, thus revealing a vast hall built of the same black stone as the rest of the castle. Katherine's eyes trailed along the walls, the high windows and the elegant tapestries that covered the black stone, before they came to rest on the tall man seated on the throne at the back of the hall. The prince lifted his gloved hand and the guard standing behind her, started to walk, pushing Katherine in front of him. She could not fight the guard, as he pushed her roughly to the stone floor, which covered the entire expanse of the room. Behind her, Katherine heard the footsteps of men entering the hall and only a few heartbeats later, Aaron and his companions knelt at her side, bowing their heads fearfully before the prince.

The blond commander, who had captured them in the woods, stepped in front of her, bowing his head to the prince. "My lord" the commander spoke "we found them in the woods. They claim her to be a thief and murderer and were on their way to bring her before you to be sentenced."

The thought of the man addressed by these words made her freeze in her cowering position and she felt her gut cramp together in fear at the thought of her impending fate. The prince allowed his cold green eyes to rest on the kneeling peasants for a moment, before turning his gaze to his commander.

"Let them speak for themselves, Ștefan" said a soft, commanding voice that had haunted her since the faithful encounter with the hooded stranger.

The blacksmith, oblivious that he knelt before his son's executioner, began recounting all that had happened since Katherine's father, once a wealthy merchant who had lost his fortune in a risky endeavour, had died after a terrible illness. It had been him, Aaron, who had provided the money to pay for the old man's treatments and after the merchant's death, he had been patient and generous when it came to the repayment of the money he had so generously provided. But as he had not received payment since the summer solstice, Aaron had sent his son to see Katherine and get the money from her. When his son and his companions did not return, the blacksmith and a handful of the villagers went looking for the young men. When they found them, they lay slain on a muddy trail in the middle of the forest.

Tears began falling down the blacksmith's weathered face. "My lord, I am old, soon I will no longer be able to work in my trade. Now, I have no son to take over from me and to care for my wife and me in old age."

The prince, all the while listening silently, stared down at the kneeling man before him. When Aaron finished, Vlad slowly walked over to the cowering woman. He waited for a brief moment and as Katherine did not lift her head, he bent down to her. Slowly he allowed his gloved hand to glide over her soft hair, before grabbing her hazel locks at the back of her neck and forcing her to raise her head.

"So we meet again, Katherine." The prince said, his voice cold.

She was unable to speak, simply starring back into his cold green eyes, her body trembling violently. He waited for a brief moment, then let go of her, taking a step back.

He raised his deep voice, now addressing everyone present. "The three men you spoke of met justice at my hand for braking my laws." Looking down at Katherine, he continued speaking, "as for her - her belongings and property will compensate for what she owes and the lash will punish her for her neglect to repay her debts." He dismissed them with a wave of his hand and the soldier standing behind her, grabbed her swiftly and dragged her from the room. Ștefan watched as his soldiers dragged off the crying girl and the village men before following the prince trough a long hallway into his private audience chamber.

Behind the large oaken doors, an expansive room was revealed. The stone floor was covered in luxurious Ottoman carpets made from the finest silk and the walls were adorned with the same elegant tapestries as the main hall. The large windows allowed the sun to light up the room and fall on a large oak wood table that was covered with maps. Vlad let his hand trace the line representing the Ottoman-Wallachian border on the map before him.

Ștefan watched him carefully. "You let the girl live, my lord?"

Vlad did not raise his head as he replied, starring fixedly at the map in front of him. "Do you question your prince's judgement my friend?

Ștefan bowed his head. "Forgive me, I did not mean to question your decision, your grace."

The prince looked up at him for a brief moment and saw the flicker of fear in his friend's eyes "I know you did not." Vlad said, a ghost of a smile lightening up his stern features. He directed his gaze back at the map and pointed at the river shown on it. "I want all strongholds along the Danube manned."

Ștefan's eyes traced the line representing the Danube and then looked up. "I will make the necessary preparations." He said, knowing that the prince would rely on him alone in this matter.

The prince looked at his friend, with the Sultan threatening Wallachia's southern boarder, Ștefan, like himself, had not slept for many nights and his face was even paler than usual.

"No Ștefan, I need you here. We may have defeated Mehmed's henchmen, but next time we will face the full force of the Ottoman army. You are no use to me commanding a line a fortresses, I need you in the field beside me. I want Galesh to do this. He has five thousand men at his disposal and as the Stuart of the South, it is his responsibility to defend the Southern strongholds."

"Yes, your grace." Ștefan replied, bowing and taking a few steps backwards before turning and leaving the room.


	2. CHAPTER II – THE PUNISHMENT

**CHAPTER II – THE PUNISHMENT**

**THE VATICAN – ROME - ITALY**

Pope Pius II stared down at the cardinal kneeling at his feet. "A Wallachian force barely three thousand men strong, slaying six thousand Ottoman soldiers under the command of Hamza Pasha. Who is this man?" Pius asked, gesturing towards the cardinal to get up from his kneeling position and take a seat opposite him. The cardinal rose to his feet in a graceful movement, smoothening out the billowing red robe he wore, thereby revealing the golden insignia of a papal legate.

The legate took a seat at the large table, opposite the Holy Father and cleared his throat before speaking. "Your holiness, two years ago, the prince reclaimed his father's throne, almost wiping out the army of his opponent during the battle and beheading the usurper after defeating him in single combat. Since then he has claimed a impressive succession of military victories, the most recent only a fortnight ago, when he faced an Ottoman battalion on the banks of the Danube, killing one of Mehmed's most able commanders and vanquishing six thousand elite soldiers."

He leaned back in his chair, sighing softly. "Apart from that, we know very little of the prince. Together with his younger brother Radu, the prince grew up at the Ottoman court in Edirne, a hostage to ensure his father's loyalty to the Sultan. He was educated together with the current Sultan Mehmet, where he was taught in the principles of law, politics and philosophy and some say even the Koran."

The cardinal picked up one of the golden goblet from the table and took a sip from the expensive wine before continuing. "Our spies in Edrine have described the prince as an intelligent, learned and refined man and very capable in matters of warfare and statesmanship, but also flexible in his alliances. It seems that as long as it serves to keep his country safe, he is willing to collaborate with Ottomans and Hungarians alike."

Pius laughed drily. "Or to slaughter them like sheep. He impaled them all, not a single man he left alive!"

The legate swallowed visibly before he continued. "It seems that the prince acquired a taste for cruelty at the Ottoman court, were he was not only educated in warfare and statesmanship but it seems, also learned the art of torture. They say his favourite method of execution is impalement, it is said that he can keep a victim alive for weeks before he dies, not from his wounds but from dehydration and exposure to the elements."

Pius grimaced. "How sophisticated." He said sarcastically. "What else do we know?"

"Under his reign Wallachia prospered. After claiming the throne, the prince executed the disloyal gentry, cleared the streets of brigands, erected countless fortresses along the boarders and set up a strong standing army. He signed numerous trade agreements and facilitated the development of the local guilds and now merchants from as far as Genoa and Venice as well as from all over the Ottoman lands come to Wallachia to offer their merchandise, making his country and especially Targoviste very rich."

The pope waved his hand impatiently. "Grimani, I am not interested in the things that we obviously all know. What are the man's weaknesses, his desires, what do we know of his character?"

The cardinal paused for a brief moment before he spoke, choosing his words carefully. "The prince seems to have very peculiar tastes…"

The pope's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You mean he is a sodomite?" he inquired.

Grimani shook his head, almost laughing. "No, unlike Mehmet, he has not taste for boys. However, it is said that he is subjecting the young women that come to his bed to… unspeakable things. My spies tell me stories of corpses being carried from his quarters covered in cuts and bites and drained of blood."

The cardinal paused, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, before reaching into his robe and pulling out a folded piece of parchment. Hesitating a moment, he handed the paper to the pope. "And there are other, darker rumours about the prince, your Holiness."

Pius let his eyes glide over the pamphlet that his legate had handed him. "Cardinal Grimani, are you trying to tell me that this prince wields some unholy power and is in league with the forces of darkness?"

The cardinal looked down at his hands. "They call him the son of the devil, your Holiness."

Pius threw the pamphlet on the table before him. "This man is a Christian prince, one of the few standing between Christianity and the Ottoman threat. He is the head of the sacred order of the dragon, sworn to protect Christianity against the infidels. And in contrast to any other monarch from here to Odessa, he seems actually capable of defeating Sultan Mehmet."

"Your Holiness…" the cardinal protested, but the pope cut him short.

"I will hear no more of this. I want you to go to Wallachia and do whatever it takes to make him defeat Mehmet. Assure the prince of our support and offer him whatever he needs… men, gold or anything else he desires." Pius dismissed his legate with an angry wave of his hand. "Oh and Cardinal Grimani, make sure we have a well placed spy at his court."

**TARGOVISTE - WALLACHIA**

Katherine trembled as she stepped out into the courtyard of the prison. The snow had fallen heavily over the night, covering the vast square in a soft white blanket. A blackbird was singing and she heard the cry of playing children somewhere beyond the walls of the courtyard.

It was the first time she had left the darkness of the small, cramped cell in which she had been held for the past few days and the light of the rising sun felt almost painful in her eyes. The cold winter air felt almost painful on her skin and each of her breath pooled into twirling mist before her eyes.

The two soldiers flanking Katherine grabbed her tighter around her upper arms. Wordlessly they led her through the heavy snow to the middle of the yard towards a weathered wooden pole with two iron manacles hanging from the top. She was pushed roughly against the wooden pole. In horror, Katherine realised that the unusual shade of the wood came not from its exposure to wind and weather, but the blood, that had been spilt by the countless men and women that had died here. She fought her tears as the taller of the two men took her arms and fastened the iron shackles around her slender wrists.

"What is the girl here for anyways, Bran?" asked the men holding her wrists together.

"Bad debtor." Bran replied. "Didn't repay what she owed to an old man that tried to help her in her misery and then, as her townsmen tried to bring her before the prince, she ran. Seems she didn't trust in the prince's justice." He laughed harshly. "I've seen men die for less than that."

He bent forward to check whether the restraints held tight and sniggered.

"Once, I saw the prince punish a Boyar for treason. He almost skinned the man alive with a whip before impaling him before the city gates. I am eager to find out whether I am capable of that too."

The way-faced boy laughed insecurely. "They say he could skin a fly in its flight with a whip."

Bran laughed loudly. "Let's practice then Nicolai, I really look forward on trying my skills on this one. I am sure she will scream nicely." Bran said while walking away from Katherine and unrolling the long leather whip he held in his hand.

Fear took hold of her. She had seen the terrible scars a whip could leave on a man's body and often men died, either through the loss of blood or, more terrible even, many days or weeks later, when the deep wounds on their backs began to fester, leaving the men to die a slow, agonizing death. She looked up at Nicolai, who was still standing in front of her. He was barely more than a boy, his white face was freckly and his brown eyes were too large, almost girly.

Suddenly, she heard the distinctive sound of horses approaching. Nicolai's eyes widened in shock and his face lost what little colour it had. Opening his mouth slightly in astonishment, he sank to one knee, bowing his head. "Your highness, we were not expecting…" Nicolai stammered, but was cut short by the man he addressed.

"Leave us." Vlad said, while crossing the courtyard, his black cloak leaving a trail in the fresh snow. The two men scurried to their feet and hurriedly left the yard.

Katherine heard the prince approach, her stomach churned and she could feel the hair on her body stand up. The faint rustle of his cloak died, as he came to stand behind her. She pressed her cheek harder against the rough surface of the blood stained, wooden pole, determined that she would not give him the satisfaction of her tears.

Vlad watched the trembling girl, her fear was almost palpable, as was her effort to hide it. Carefully he brushed her thick brown hair over her shoulder, his hand touching the side of her face and her neck as he did so. He let his eyes rest on her trembling form for a moment, then he pulled a small blade from a hidden sheath in his boot. Katherine winced as the cold metal touched the skin at the back of her neck and with one swift movement, the prince cut her dress from the back of her neck down to her hips. Katherine felt fear and anger fill her.

"Are you doing this because you enjoy it?" Katherine asked. Shocked by her own boldness, she bit her lower lip, the coppery taste of her own blood filling her mouth.

Stepping closer to her until their bodies almost touched. "No Katherine, I am doing this, because I decided to spare you an agonizing death." He said, grabbing her dress at its back and tearing the ragged garment from her upper body.

Katherine exhaled sharply as the cold air touched her delicate skin. Vlad did not even look at Katherine's exposed body, instead he turned to the shaded gateway leading into the courtyard.

"Stoica, get me a whip." He commanded, and the black clad Viteshi that had been standing silently in the shadows of the archway hurried to fulfil his master's command.

Katherine pressed her forehead harder against the rough wood, fighting her fear of what was to come. "Your men said that you are very accomplished in this, your grace." She said, her voice breaking.

"Then pray Katherine, that this true." The prince said, taking the whip that the black clad Viteshi was holding out to him.

Slowly he stepped back from her, unrolling the worn leather lash and letting it slide across his gloved hand in a motion that betrayed his practiced use of the instrument. Suddenly, he drew back his arm in a forceful motion. Bringing his hand forward in a graceful, circular movement, he allowed the thin leather strap to make contact with the soft, white skin of her back. Katherine screamed in pain as her skin split open under the impact, her fingers clawing at the rough wood of the post.

The prince continued in a steady, merciless rhythm and Katherine could feel the blood trickling down her back. She tried to pray, but the pain made it impossible to form the words. Then it stopped and she sank down the wooden post, stretching her arms as far as the iron manacles would allow.

The prince dropped the leather whip into the snow. Anger was blazing in his eyes as he walked past Stoica. "See that her wounds are attended to."

The Viteshi looked up at him in surprise, but did not dare to question his master. "I will see to it, your grace." Stoica replied, watching as the prince mounted his waiting horse and turned the nervous stallion around to leave the courtyard.


	3. CHAPTER III – THE TRAITOR

**CHAPTER III – THE TRAITOR**

**TARGOVISTE - WALLACHIA**

Ștefan entered the throne room, his steps resounding from the stone walls as he walked rapidly across the large hall towards the throne situated at its very end. With distain he looked at the small group of elegantly dressed courtiers, that had gathered in front of the throne. The men turned their heads when he entered, falling silent and letting him pass. Ștefan knelt before the prince, bowing his head.

"Rise Ștefan. What news do you bring my friend?" Vlad asked, rising from the throne, stepping down the stone steps to meet his friend.

Ștefan rose. "Your grace, I have received word that Lord Galesh betrayed us to Sultan Mehmet. He and five thousand of his solders joined the Ottoman forces." Ștefan said.

Vlad's eyes travelled across his friend's face, then he turned to the group of men standing being him. "You are dismissed. I will call on you should the need arise my lords."

The courtiers bowed, murmuring their respects and taking a few stepped backwards before they turned and left the room.

"Come." The prince said, turning and making his way across the great hall to a narrow door to his right. Stepping into the long, narrow passageway, the two men walked silently, paying no heed to the black clad Viteshi that stood at attention as their lords passed. The two Viteshi, standing guard before the prince's private study saluted and opened the finely carved oak-wood door for their master.

"So Galesh has betrayed me." Vlad said darkly, his fist closing around the intricately carved handle of his sword.

"He has claimed the Southern strongholds and agreed to a secret treaty with the Ottomans, promising them to fight at their side should they cross the Danube and invade Wallachia." Ștefan said, brushing his blond hair out of his face in a gesture of distress.

"He will pay for his treason. We will reclaim the Southern strongholds and reinstate order. As for Galesh and his men, I will hunt him down and send his head as a message to Mehmet."

Ștefan starred at Vlad, shaking his head in disbelieve at the prince's words. "Vlad, we are at war with the Ottoman Empire and you plan on executing his ally at our border, right under the Turk's nose? Mehmet has half a million man standing across the Danube, he will have to react to this provocation."

Vlad chuckled. "I expect him to react to it. I want to lure him across the Danube, into the South. And there, we will destroy him."

Ștefan shook his head. "This is madness. We are vastly outnumbered, we count a hundred thousand men, half of them are barely armoured and poorly trained."

"Ștefan, the Turk is standing at the gates of Europe and Wallachia will be the first to fall. We have nothing to loose anymore." The prince said.

"Vlad, we cannot defeat Mehmed!" Ștefan said, his face ashen. "I will not send my men into a hopeless war."

The prince's face darkened. "Never forget whom you serve Ștefan."

Ștefan's face drained of all colour. "Please your grace, forgive me." He said, sinking down on one knee.

Vlad studied the kneeling man for a moment before he continued, his eyes falling on the folded piece of parchment that Ștefan held in his hand.

"I know that Galesh's betrayal is not the reason you have come here Ștefan." Vlad said, gesturing to Ștefan to stand up.

Ștefan rose to his feet, swallowing hard, unsure of how to start the conversation.

"There are rumours Vlad." He paused and looked down at the ring on his index finger. "People say that you have turned your back on the Orthodox Church and converted to the Roman Catholic faith. And there are other, much darker rumours."

Vlad turned, walking over to the window and starring darkly out the window for a moment. Then he turned, facing Ștefan. "There will always be rumours, do not pay attention to them."

Ștefan tried to read his friends face, but his expression betrayed no emotion. Ștefan had known the prince since their childhood and had spent his youth at his side at the Ottoman Court in Edirne and in exile at the Moldavian court. He had stood beside him as he fought for his fathers throne and never left him as he fought for Wallachias independence from the Ottoman Empire. But in spite of their long friendship, the prince rarely revealed his thoughts to Ștefan, but Ștefan had never hesitated to share his thoughts with the prince. Now, for the first time, something made him hesitate before he spoke again.

"Vlad, this is different. You cannot ignore this, your people fear you…"

Vlad cut him short. "I know what the peasants are saying Ștefan. It does neither interest nor concern me." The prince replied sharply, cutting him short. "I want you to be prepared for tomorrow. The army will leave at daybreak."

* * *

Katherine opened her eyes. Soft sunlight fell on her face. Her head rested on soft linen. Carefully, she allowed her fingers to brush over the fine material. Last that she had felt anything so fine was when her father had still been alive and his business prospering.

"You have been lucky girl, the prince is not usually that kind to those who break his laws." Katherine shot up, startled by the women's voice.

"Who are you?" Katherine asked, starring at the old women sitting beside the large bed in which she rested.

The woman's face was wrinkled and she wore a simple dark blue robe that matched the colour of her eyes and a white cap that was embodied around the edges.

"My name is Serena Stoicova." The old woman said, pushing Katherine back into the soft pillows of the bed. "I have been taking care of you since you were brought here."

Katherine winced at the pain in her back. "Where am I?" she asked, her eyes gliding over the large windows and the elegant furniture of the room. The room was specious and the large windows had been opened to allow the sunlight to fall into the room. The curtains and coverings were made of heavy damask and the elegant marquetry flooring showed the picture of Saint George fighting the dragon.

"This house is part of the royal household and usually kept for the noblemen who spend time at the princely court here in Targoviste. You were brought here on the prince's command." She sighed, brushing a strand of grey hair back under her linen cap and placing the finely crafted Venetian vile that she had held on a small table to her right.

"Soon after you were brought here, your wounds began to fester. For days I feared that you would die under my care, then the Viteshi that had brought you here left me this on the prince's orders." She pointed to the vial containing an almost transparent liquid. "You started to recover quickly, your fever subsided within days and your wounds started to heal." She smiled reassuringly at Katherine, misinterpreting the worried look on the young woman's face. "The wounds are closing nicely, I am sure that they will not leave any scars."

Katherine sank back into her pillows, closing her eyes. She remembered vaguely strong arms picking her up in the courtyard of the prison. She was put onto a horse and brought to a house. After that, all her memories became blurry.

"How long have I been here, Serena?" Katherine asked, her hands brushing absently across the fine fabric of her covers.

Serena opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by loud shouting and the heavy footsteps.

Katherine sat up on her elbows. "What is this?" Katherine asked, her voice hoarse from lack of use and dehydration.

She chuckled. "The army is leaving again. The prince is a restless warrior. After he defeated the Ottomans at the banks of the Danube, it is said that our army forced them to retreat to Dârstor. After the victory, the army returned and the prince left Galesh to protect the south in his name." Serena looked at her, unsure of whether it was a good thing telling her young charge more about this when it so visibly upset her. She hesitated. "Word is that Galesh out of fear from the Turks or just pure greed, betrayed his country and has sworn loyalty to the Sultan. It seems that the prince is determined to punish Galesh and replace the boyar's men with those loyal to him. Galesh will surely pay the ultimate price for his treachery, as will all those that serve him."

Katherine froze. "Are you saying, Galesh betrayed the prince?" She attempted to sit up, but was held back by the firm hands of Serena.

"My brother is in the service of Galesh." Katherine held onto the older woman's sleeves, almost shaking her.

Serena looked at her with a concerned expression. "Galesh and his men are at the mercy of the prince, trust in him, he will be just in his verdict." She smiled, softly removing Katherine's hands from her dress.

"I will go to the prince and ask for mercy for my brother." Katherine said, determined to stand up.

Serena pushed her back onto the bed with surprising strength, holding her there with one hand on her shoulder.

"Katherine, the prince has already left the city. And I doubt that he would see you on this matter. You are a commoner Katherine, a commoner that broke the law. I doubt that the prince would care to see you, in spite of what he did for you." Serena said, speaking softly, like one spoke to a child.

* * *

Getting up, Katherine brushed the snow from her thin linen shift and looked back up the window. She suddenly realised how lucky she had been to be unscathed after a jump from such a height. But she had to get to her brother before the prince and his men did. She had to safe him.

Shivering in the bitter cold of the night, she followed the dark city wall for what seemed forever. She let her eyes glide over her surroundings, looking up the imposing outline of the princely castle in the night sky. Her stomach churned when she thought of the man inhabiting the building. Her eyes slid down the dark walls of the castle, until they came to rest on the large building at their foot. The garrisons.

Katherine's heart pounded loudly as she neared the large stone building. The entrance to the barracks was heavily guarded, but not so the doors leading to the adjacent stables. In the shadow of the high walls, she slowly walked towards the stalls. Praying that she would not make any noise, she pushed open the heavy oak wood doors leading into the stables. She could hear soft noises of horses; their distinctive smell almost comforting in her nostrils.

She was alone. Exhaling with relief, she slowly walked over to the horse closest to the door. Carefully she placed a hand on the stallion's soft, brown nuzzle. He would help her reach her brother. Looking around, her eyes fell on a black and white squire's tunic, bearing the sign of the dragon on its chest. She almost cried as she let her hand glide over the rough material. She undressed swiftly, pealing out of the fine linen gown she wore. She felt the cold night air hit her naked skin. Hurriedly, she slipped into the brown leather trousers. Then she bent down, taking up her robe and tearing it into one long, thin stripe of fabric. Carefully Katherine began to wrap the white linen around her upper body, covering her breasts and removing any trace of femininity from her small frame. Barely able to breathe, she pulled the tunic over her head and taking the heavy leather belt, she wrapped it around her slim waist. Slipping on her boots, her eyes scanned the walls for a knife or another useful implement she could use to cut off her hair, but she found none. Swearing under her breath, she picked up the pointed helmet, hiding her dark locks underneath it.

Picking up some rags, she stepped closer to the brown stallion. Whispering soft words, she bent down, allowing her hand to glide along the horse's legs. The stallion carefully lifted its heavy foot and gripping the hoof tightly, Katherine began to wrap the cloth around the horse's hoof.

When she finished, she saddled the stallion and led him out into the courtyard. Katherine prayed that the cloth around the stallion's hoofs and the snow would be enough to ensure that she could leave quietly. It had begun to snow, the heavy flakes falling so densely that they did not only cover her trail in the snow, but also provide sufficient cover for her to escape unnoticed by the guards standing in front of the barracks.

She walked through the city, towards the city gates. Targoviste was quiet, save from the noise of a few drunkards and laughter of women from the taverns and brothels. She came to a halt in the cover of a projecting roof. There she would wait, until the guards would open the city gates at daybreak. She was sure that her disguise would allow her to go unnoticed among the riders leaving the city.

At dawn, the city gates were opened and as she rode past the city guard, no one noticed her. Sighing with relief, she urged her mount on, following the road leading to the south.

For two days, Katherine followed the road to the south, only resting when her horse required it. On her way, the snow became lighter, until the beautiful white blanket was replaced by a muddy trail, left behind by the thousands of horses that had walked across the fields.


	4. CHAPTER IV – THE BATTLE

**CHAPTER IV – THE BATTLE**

**SOUTHERN WALLACHIA**

Tiered and cold, she watched the winter sun rise high above the mountains in the East. Suddenly, her stallion grew restless. Her heart began beating faster. Urging her horse forward, Katherine followed the track of the army up the hill. They were close.

As she reached the grass covered summit, her eyes fell on the Wallachian army, lining up in a narrow valley, enclosed in the east and west by a dense, dark forest and high cliffs. At the other end of the valley, the colourful uniforms of the Ottoman army formed a splendid contrast to the black and white of the Wallachian troops. Her fellow countrymen were outnumbered at least five to one.

Katherine placed her hand on her horse's mane, trying to calm the creature that was nervously snorting and stepping to one side.

Her eyes travelled across the Wallachian camp. At the very end of the camp, she could see a large number of men, chained together. They were wearing Galesh's colours, blue and yellow. Tears welled up in her eyes as she thought of her brother.

"I am here Jonathan." She whispered, hoping her brother would somehow know that she was on her way.

Determined, she closed her legs, urging her horse forward, down into the valley. But before she could reach the army, two riders caught up with her.

"What have we here, a deserter?" One of the men shouted, guiding his horse to her side.

"Leave him Thomas, it's just a boy." His companion said, his eyes travelling across her face. "Has not even grown a beard yet!" He said mockingly. "Hurry up young lad, your regiment is leaving with the prince and you don't want to get executed as deserter now do you?" He said, pointing towards a group of around two hundred men in black and white tunics like her. They followed a man dressed in black armour, a large silver dragon on his black tunic. Vlad.

Katherine looked at the two men riding on each side of her, not knowing what to do or say. Her eyes fell on Thomas. His hands were resting on the hilt of his sword. Looking at her intently, he moved his hand slightly, enough to unsheathe the top of his sword and make his threat clear.

She closed her legs, urging her horse into a light canter and riding down the hill, flanked by Thomas and his companion. As they reached the battalion, Thomas put a hand on her shoulder.

"You will be alright lad." He said, pointing at the front of the column, right behind the prince. "The Voivode is a good commander, you will be save close to him." He said, smiling faintly at her.

Unable to speak, she just nodded and turning her horse, she joined the ranks of soldiers following the prince.

The prince raised his sword, turning his horse towards his men. "For god." He shouted, and his cry was picked up by the ranks of his men.

Then he turned his mount and rode out into the battlefield. His men followed. Her horse fell into a canter, following the others onto the battleground. Her heart pounded. Unlike the men around her, she did not wear any armour underneath her tunic. Her hands clenched around the reins of her horse. She had to turn back now or she would die. Suddenly, the men riding behind her sheered away to the right and left, while the prince and a handful of his men continued to the middle of the battlefield. Jammed between the riders to her left and right, she was forced to go on with the smaller group, riding straight at the Ottoman army.

Katherine looked up as she heard the searing sound of arrows. The men at her side cried in pain, falling from their horses. In front of her, the prince lifted his sword, deflecting the projectiles skilfully. But in this same instant, his mighty stallion collapsed under him, arrows protruding from his chest and neck. The animal fell, burying the prince underneath its dead body. Before she could react, her own horse stumbled and fell heavily on the ground. She fell hard, arrows raining down around her. Out of the corner of her eyes, Katherine could see the Ottomans advancing. The men jumped off their horses, closing in on them. Their leader, having watched the prince's fall, grinned broadly, sure of his victory. Wielding a scimitar he advanced on the prince to deliver the deadly blow.

Katherine watched in horror, his death would be the end, not only of her, but of all his subjects and maybe even Christendom. The Akinci raised his arm. Closing her eyes, she threw herself across the prince's body, her helmet falling off, allowing her hair to spill freely across his armoured chest. But the prince had already grabbed his sword, slashing the Ottoman's throat in one swift movement, at the same time throwing up his shield to protect the girl lying across his chest. The Akinci staggered, surprised by the prince's deadly speed, unable to deflect the blade that cut across his throat. In horror, the Akinci clasped his neck, trying to stop the blood spilling from his throat.

Katherine cried out loud, as the Turk's blood spilled across her face and clothes. Vlad shoved her away from his chest. Falling to her side, she watched in terror as the prince, with almost inhuman strength, pushed away the body of the dead horse, freeing himself from the weight holding him down.

"You will stay behind me girl." He said in a harsh tone, his green eyes tracing over the advancing lines of enemies. They were alone in the middle of the battlefield, encircled by the Ottoman army. Vlad took off his helmet and threw it to the ground. Squinting his eyes against the sun, he calmly watched as the Ottoman flanks sheered out, advancing on them. Sure of their victory, with the prince trapped in the middle of the battlefield, the Akinci closed in on them. A smile playing around his lips, Vlad took his sword in both hands, and placing it tip down in front of him, he watched as his enemies approached. Then he let his eyes glide across the dense forest, as if waiting for something. Suddenly, hundreds of archers stepped from the surrounding woods, bearing the dragon emblem on their black and white tunics.

The prince, easily visible on the small hill on which they stood, raised one hand, giving the signal. A cry was repeated among the Wallachian archers and suddenly, hundreds of arrows rained down into the unprotected flanks of the Ottoman army. The light cavalry that was approaching on them was struck down without mercy, horses and riders dying with horrifying screams. The heavy cavalry, slow and inflexible, could only watch as their comrades fell victim to the deadly trap that the Wallachians had prepared for them. Unable to change their formation fast enough, the Sipahi soon shared their comrades' fate. Then the Wallachian cavalry, lead by the Viteshi in their black tunics, charged on what remained of the Ottoman army.

Katherine watched in terror as the surviving Sipahi, determined to avenge their fallen comrades and kill the Wallachian prince, began to close in on them. The prince, holding his broadsword in both hands tip down in front of him, watched as they approached. When the first man came into reach of his weapon, he moved with lightning speed, picking up the blade and beheading him with one smooth stroke. He moved trough the enemy's lines with a speed and grace that was unmatched by any of his opponents. She felt fear and revulsion at the sight of him, his eyes shining bright, a cruel smile playing around his lips as he watched his enemies fall at his hand.

The stories about the prince came to her mind. It was said that that he had struck a pact with the devil to make himself invincible and in return, the prince would send the devil the souls of a hundred thousand men, each of them killed by his sword.

Wrestling a spear from a Sipahi, the prince impaled the man on his own weapon. Giving an inhuman cry, Vlad hoisted the man up on the stake, ramming its end into the wet ground of the battlefield. The man's cries slowly died as he slid down the improvised stake. Two Ottomans, momentarily hesitating in the face of the prince's barbaric actions, fell from the same stoke of Vlad's sword.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed her from behind, forcing her to her knees. Smiling, a tall Sipahi raised his scimitar, ready to kill her.

"Please don't. No, please." She screamed, struggling violently against his iron grip.

From the corner of her eyes, she could see Vlad turn towards her. She saw the glistening outline of his sword. Blood spilled across her, as Vlad put his sword through the man's lower belly. Swearing, he pulled Katherine into a protective embrace with his left, holding her close to his chest, while he fought his way through the ranks of Sipahi.

Suddenly she heard hoof beats behind them. The black clad Viteshi, carrying the banner of the dragon, had reached them, ready to fight and die beside their master. The heavily armoured warriors stopped beside Vlad and one of the men jumped off his horse, offering the reins to the prince. "Thank you Stoica." Vlad said, mounting the nervous stallion while Stoica was pulled up by another Viteshi and came to sit behind him in the saddle. Vlad nodded at the tall man riding beside him. "Take her and make sure she is returned to the camp alive."

The tall, black clad Viteshi pulled her up onto his horse, staring at her in disbelieve. Then he turned his horse towards the woods. He pressed her tightly to his chest, his armour scratching roughly against her back. Following the line of the trees, they rode behind the lines of archers towards the camp. Forcing his horse to an abrupt halt before a tent, the Viteshi jumped off his mount, pulling her down with him. She cried out as she fell hard against his chest.

"Quiet girl." He said, pushing her forward and into the tent.

The cramped space was filled supplies, large barrels filled with wine and stacks of dried meet in wooden boxes lined up against the canvas. Bending down, her man picked up a dirty rope from the ground and wordlessly wrapped it around her writs.

"If you try to escape, I will kill you personally." The guard said, binding her to the heavy wooden tent pole that measured at least the height of two men.

The heavy rope was wet and cut uncomfortably into the flesh of her wrists, opening up her half healed wounds. As night began to fall and the noise from the battlefield had died down, the blond commander, who had brought her to the castle on the night she escaped from Aaron, stepped into the tent.

"I should have killed you the night we met." He said, slowly making his way across the tent towards her. He looked at her, his eyes full of disgust. "Do you know what happens to women in war, when they are taken by an army?" He asked, watching her intently. As she didn't reply, he took a step closer to her, his tall, strong body almost touching her. "I could just give you to my men and be done with." He said.

Katherine suppressed her tears, biting her lips.

"Guards." He called out and two men entered the tent. "The prince wishes to see the girl." He said, pointing to her.


	5. CHAPTER V - SACRIFICES

**CHAPTER V – SACREFICES**

**ARGES VALLEY – WALLACHIA (WINTER 1456)**

The two men made their way across the tent. One drew a small dagger from his belt and swiftly cut the rope holding her wrists together. The dark-haired solider to her right pulled her hands roughly from the rope and pushed her forward towards his companion. Ștefan's watched silently, as his men took the struggling girl roughly by her arms and led her out of the tent.

Katherine stumbled out of the tent, almost blind in the darkness. Her feet sank deep into the mud as she was led to the middle of the camp, passing by burning campfires, around which the Wallachian soldiers sat, roasting meat, sharpening their weapons and nursing their wounds. The guards stationed throughout the camp stepped aside silently, allowing them to pass. She could feel their greedy eyes on her, feeling them devouring her with their stares. She felt sick as she remembered the commander's words, none of the man would hesitate a moment to rape her, if they were given permission to do so.

Her heart beat faster as they reached the prince's bulky tent. The two guards stationed at the entrance pulled back the richly adorned tarpaulins, allowing them to enter. The man to her right grabbed her upper arm, pushing her trough the entrance and down to her knees onto the soft Ottoman carpets that covered the floor. The two guards remained silently by her side, waiting for their master to dismiss them.

"Leave us." The prince said, not looking up from the letter he was reading.

The two men turned and left the tent swiftly, glad to leave the presence of the prince. Katherine did not dare to move. She kept her eyes cast down on her blood-stained, muddy hands that left dark stains on silk carpets.

She expected the prince to speak, but his gaze remained fixed on the letter, unmoving and silent. Timidly, Katherine let her eyes glide over his tall form. His face was handsome and elegant, dominated by his intensely green eyes. His short dark hair and the dark stubble around his chin accentuating his lightly tanned skin. He wore black riding boots, their metal pleated, peaked shafts ending above his knees. His tunic, as black as the rest of his attire, spread over his chest and accentuated his lithe, athletic body. In spite of his military attire, he reminded her more of a scholar than a warrior.

Her eyes came to rest on the finely crafted handle of his sword and she was reminded of the ease with which he had struck down his opponents on the battlefield, his sensual lips smiling cruelly, his actions cold and merciless. He was a killer.

Putting away the letter he had been reading, he fixed his eyes on the girl kneeling on the silk Ottomans. He studied her for a moment, taking in her slender form, wrapped in a blood-soaked tunic of a simple foot solider.

"I have underestimated your resourcefulness Katherine." He said as he rose from his chair, slowly walking over to her kneeling form.

Swallowing hard, she noticed his slight limp and as he walked around the corner of the table, her eyes fell on a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his left thigh.

"Why did you come here?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

"Your grace, I came here to find my brother, he served Lord Galesh. When I heard that they would be executed I came here to beg for his life. I …" Her voice broke and she closed her eyes before she continued. "I came to offer my life in return for his."

Vlad laughed drily. "This is a very brave offer Katherine. And a very foolish one." Vlad said, stepping closer to her. "Rise."

Her legs trembled violently and she barely found the strength to push herself up from her kneeling position, but she did not dare to disobey him. She rose to her feet slowly, biting her lip to hide her trembling. Holding her gaze, he stepped closer, drawing a dagger from a hidden sheath in his cloak and placing its sharp tip against her throat. In spite of her fear she did not move. If this was the price she had to pay for her brother's freedom, then she would gladly do so. The prince allowed the sharp Damascene blade to rest there for a moment while observing her reactions. She did not flinch.

"Very good Katherine." He said in a low voice before allowing the knife to slide down deeper across her neck towards her breasts, where it cut into the stiff fabric of her tunic and the soft bandage covering her breasts, not once touching the flesh beneath.

The tunic fell open, revealing one of her white breasts. Slipping the knife back into its hidden sheet, the prince began to circle her slowly, studying her. Coming to a halt behind her, he stepped closer. Katherine inhaled sharply as he slid a hand up the back of her neck into her hair. Grabbing her thick locks he slowly bent her head backwards, exposing the white skin of her throat.

"Your life already belongs to me Katherine, you cannot offer something that is no longer yours to give." He said in a soft voice, his mouth close to her ear. "But I will offer you a choice, a deal for your brother's life. You can stay here, tonight with me and your brother will live. Or I will let you go and he will face justice with his companions tomorrow at dawn. Do not choose lightly Katherine, for if you decide to stay, you will sacrifice more than your innocence tonight."

She tried to steady her breathing. She could feel his body behind her, unmoving, waiting for her reply. Wondering whether he was the devil himself luring her into eternal damnation, she closed her eyes and leaned back against his touch. "I am yours my lord." She whispered.


	6. CHAPTER VI – THE LEGATE

**CHAPTER VI – THE LEGATE**

**ABBEY OF THE SACRED HEART - TARGOVISTE - WALLACHIA (WINTER 1456)**

Grimani was pacing the room, reading a letter that was written in an elegant hand on expensive, white parchment. He turned as the door opened and the figure of a haggard old man stepped into the room. Grimani watched as the old man sank to his knees, wordlessly holding out his hand to allow the old monk to kiss the amethyst ring on his right.

"Your eminence." The monk murmured, getting up from his knees with difficulty.

"Please, father Petru, take a seat." Grimani said, gesturing to the wooden chairs standing opposite the large fireplace. Grimani watched the old man sink slowly into the chair and took the chair opposite the monk, stretching his long leather clad legs before him.

"Your eminence, my spies at the Hungarian court tell me that you met Mathias Corvinus the day before yesterday and urged him to come to the aid of the Wallachian prince." Father Petru said, his eyes gliding disapprovingly over the cardinal's martial appearance, the finely crafted breastplate, bearing the Grimani family crest, the fine chain armour covering his upper body and the sword hanging at his side.

Grimani's eyebrows rose slightly in surprise at the old man's remark, his piercing blue eyes flashing with a barely veiled anger. "You are a well informed man, father Petru." Grimani stated coldly, picking up a wine-filled goblet and offering the other to the monk.

Father Petru shook his head, nodding to the golden goblet in Grimani's hand. "Thank you, your eminence, but I do not engage in such worldly pleasures."

Grimani sighed, a smile spreading across his handsome face, but his icy blue eyes remained fixedly on the old man sitting opposite him.

"I forgot, father Petru, that you are among god's most faithful deciphers." Grimani said, slowly setting down the golden goblet on the table next to him before getting up. "But enough of this, father Petru. You know as well as I do that I failed in urging the Hungarian king to intervene in the Ottoman-Wallachian war. In spite of the Holy Father's call to another crusade, Mathias Corvinus is not willing to risk his crown to aid one of his small vassal states from an imminent Ottoman invasion. But Corvinus is foolish to believe that Mehmet will be satisfied with Wallachia."

Petru looked up at Grimani, hesitating before he spoke. "I am told that the Roman Curia fears that Mehmet is not satisfied with Constantinople and is setting his eyes on Rome."

Grimani's eyes narrowed at this comment. Slowly, he rose from his chair and walked towards the window, his long red cloak billowing behind him with every step. Petru noted how easily his hand rested on the hilt of his sword, reminding himself that the legate, a spawn of the great house of Naples, was as much a warrior as a man of god, having led armies to defend his land and to conquer in the name of god.

Resting his gloved hand on the windowsill, the cardinal starred out into the night. "Mehmet wishes to follow in the footsteps of Alexander the Great, and this means that Wallachia is only the first stepping stone on his quest for eternal glory."

Petru's eyes rested on the cardinal's tall form, he hesitated a moment before he spoke. "So you intend to support the prince in his unholy quest to keep Mehmet from setting foot into Europe?"

Grimani turned to the monk, his cold blue eyes resting disdainfully on the old man. "You forget your place father. I will not ask you again, have you found what I commanded you to seek?"

Petru felt fear at the cardinal's words and swallowed hard before he spoke. "It has been rumoured that the prince was seeking out an unholy power to grant him victory over Mehmet. There is only one place where he can attain what he is seeking. Legend tells us of an abandoned monastery dedicated to Sveti Georgi, or as you call him, Saint George. It is said that through heresy at the altar of Sveti Georgi, the dragon will gain the power to conquer the saint and lay waste to this world."

"How?" Grimani asked, his voice cold, his blue eyes blazing.

Petru opened the ancient folio that he had carried. "The enemy's blood willingly given, shall free the dragon from its chains…" the old man stopped and looked up at Grimani. "It is only a legend, your eminence, and even if it were true, I doubt that the prince would succeed in obtaining a willing sacrifice from any member of the house of Osman."

Grimani's cold eyes rested on the old man for a moment, before he spoke. "Eighteen years ago, still a prince then, Mehmet led his army into Wallachia, burning, plundering and raping his way across the lands. As his men were approaching Targoviste, they plundered a small village in the Arges valley, burning down the houses, killing the men and enslaving the women. Mehmet, in the heat of battle, ravished a young maiden. Sure she would not survive her injuries, Mehmet left her in the fields to die, but the faiths were merciful and the young woman survived to give birth to Mehmet's child. The girl grew up sheltered in a remote village in the Arges valley, without ever knowing of her noble heritage. For a long time it seemed that her origin was a well kept secret, known only to a select few within the Roman curia." Grimani's smiled bitterly.

The old monk felt a distant fear grip his body and he swallowed hard before he spoke. " Where is the girl now, your eminence?"

Grimani turned back to the window. "She is in his power."


End file.
